


Wilderness

by misscassietaylor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror, Auror Partners, Drarry, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscassietaylor/pseuds/misscassietaylor
Summary: Harry and Draco are assigned to hunt down a remaining Death Eater that threatens to repeat history. With limited use of magic, and specific orders to treck through the country instead of Apparating, Draco and Harry have time to reflect upon themselves or even upon each other.





	

***

The hearth crackled softly, emitting a gentle light that was just comfortable enough to make out vague shapes around the room, and the growing darkness did nothing to help. The warmth had slowly dwindled over the past few hours, and Harry could hardly feel it anymore as he sat in a large armchair a few feet away, a glass of dark bourbon in his hand of number Twelve Grimmuald Place. 

A few hours before, Harry had received an owl that had him honestly questioning if the owl had gone mad and somehow became rerouted along the way. Sure enough, though, the official-looking letter was addressed to him, from Kingsley Shacklebolt--Minister of Magic. Harry had looked at the letter dozens of times, rereading until he practically memorized the formal note, and to no avail, as it had read the same as it had when he initially opened the crisp envelope. 

The letter now lay to Harry's right, laying slightly crumpled on his side table that also housed the bottle of bourbon. 

Draco Malfoy. 

Harry hadn't seen or heard that name in years, much less thought of it. Sure, the man had flit through his thoughts every so often, however, nothing more than the usual 'I wonder what he's up to these days,' and as soon as it had arrived, the thought was gone.

 

A sharp pain in Harry's neck snapped him back to the present. He has been sitting in this position for two and a half hours now, slumping further and further down as time went ahead. In what Harry guessed to be less than a week's time, he would be embarking on a reconnaissance mission with mentioned Malfoy. Of course, Harry wasn't so much as stressed about this mission, as he was anxious. From what he understood, neither him, nor Malfoy could use magic further than the bare necessities. This included trekking through the country from one Apparation point, and everything beyond they would be bound to a minimal magic use. Harry didn't understand it himself, and he was absolutely sure that none of his questions would be answered at the meeting detailed in the letter for tomorrow. 

The open windows to his home would let a breeze through every few moments, and the crisp smell of the ebbing Spring would urge Harry to inhale, letting the calming scent of wet grass and cool weather take over him. He could hear crickets chirping, and every couple of minutes, a Muggle car would slowly drive by. Harry stared at the glowing embers of the used-to-be fire, watching them pulse with dull heat. 

Harry snapped from his stupor, realizing that he had spent the most of the last three-quarters of an hour staring at burning embers. It was time for bed, he told himself strictly. Draining the glass with a grimace, Harry shimmied himself up and off of the sofa chair, stumbling to his bedroom. As soon as his head hit the pillow, all thoughts vanished, and he slept. 

:::

Harry woke with a start, skin sticky with sweat and chest in pain from his rapid heartbeat and quick breaths. The sun was just rising and the bright light snuck it's way through the shades in the room, glaring in Harry's eye. It had been a very long time since Harry had gotten a restful nights sleep. The nights were becoming easier with time, however, he still woke with a start nearly every morning these days. 

Harry spared himself about ten minutes, practicing breathing softly and deliberately, which he found to help with the pains; which, in turn, helped his breathing steady.  
The windows were still open from the previous night, he could hear birds in the distance, singing and chittering in the trees. Harry could picture them dancing along in the sun rays, wings glittering from the light. 

Long moments passed, and the chirping birds seemed to silence in Harry's mind. Staring up at the ceiling, he soon realized that in a few short hours, he would be in the same room as Draco Malfoy for the first time in Merlin knows how long. Shacklebolt would be there as well, of course, administering the meeting, but Harry inwardly groaned at the impeding awkward hellos and inevitable tries for small talk. Or not inevitable. Malfoy could still be the steely, cold eyed prick for all Potter knew, which didn't come as a surprising image. Harry honestly couldn't decide which would be worse. 

Tea, he needed tea. 

Harry's stomach growled softly. 

And perhaps something to eat. 

:::

Draco Malfoy sat with his back straight and posture rigid, a few inches from the back of the seat, staring down at blank parchment. The clock on the wall insisted that he was obsessively much too early, and Draco scowled at it, and ignored it pointedly. 

The sleek white quill rested on his thumb, middle finger wiggling it every few seconds. In nearly over an hour's time, Draco would see Harry Potter for the first time in years. Of course he had heard of the Boy Who Lived many times through the years, as The Prophet apparently found him as interesting as ever these days -- Heaven knows why --but he vaguely knew what the man was up to these days. 

The window to the outside was plain. A flat white sky outside today, much different from how whimsical the morning had started. Slowly, the overcast had settled, proving it to be another dull day. 

Draco's hand reached up and carded through his primly straightened hair. He'd let it grow out, the ends barely kissing the top of his shoulders. The collar of his white button down silk dress shirt tickled his neck, and he flattened it with a sigh, and did his best to straighten out the sapphire ribbon that wrapped around his neck in an elegant bow. Everything became increasingly uncomfortable as the minutes ticked by, and soon, he was aware of his very presence, his black slacks even threatening him to twitch and send his fingers flying toward a ghost itch every few seconds.

Draco, becoming desperate to pass the time, pulled out the rumpled parchment he had received earlier that week. He glanced over the words, making note of the practiced quill strokes, but not really reading the words. He didn't need to, as this paper was the reason he was here in the first place. A few blotches at the edge of the page that Draco hadn't noticed before looked like strange little bugs. He thought on this, deciding their names, and how they lived. And what they would eat, and... Draco snapped his eyes shut and his teeth worried his bottom lip, chewing at the loose skin there. He tasted copper and swore. He hadn't meant to tug that much. Draco furiously bit down on his lip and sucked at the self-inflicted wound. It would be a while until the bleeding would stop unless he had a cloth or tissue. 

Minutes passed, and finally--finally, Shacklebolt pushed the door open with his shoulder, arms occupied with numbers of folders and papers, his opposite hand gingerly grasping a mug of tea, black. As he entered the room, it was only after he had set down his mountain of folders before his eyes rested on Draco, and his eyebrows quieted up. Draco immediately released his lip from between his teeth, praying blood wouldn't show. 

"Mister Malfoy, good morning," he said, offering a polite smile. 

"Sir," Draco nodded respectfully his grey eyes following Shacklebolt's hands. 

A beat of agonizing silence stretched between them. Draco turned away and swiped his tongue along his tongue, and his shoulders relaxed with relief. The bleeding had slowed to nearly unnoticeable, and Draco sighed quietly. 

"Harry should be here shortly," Shacklebolt said after clearing his throat. "When he arrives, we'll go over everything." And he took a seat, busying himself with files that Draco assumed didn't need fussing with. Draco replied with silence, and the fidgeting with his quill worsened. For one in his life, he willed Potter to hurry the fuck up so he can be spared of this agony. 

An unlucky ten minutes later, Potter rushed in, hair looking disheveled as ever, and glasses as crooked as Draco remembered them. Of course, the years did well for Potter, with the Auror training and all, but in Draco's eyes, he still remembered the frail and fumbling child from school. A small smirk stretched Draco's lips and he finally relaxed in his seat as Shacklebolt and Potter exchanged pleasantries. Surprisingly, Draco noticed, Potter had gotten new framed. These ones were rounded, but more flat at the top. Much like horn-rimmed, but less flashy. Thinner frames with a black glossy paint, and Draco could see silver in the arms somewhere, but couldn't make out the detail with just a quick look. Potter turned and looked at Draco, a smile vague on his lips. Draco nodded back with pursed lips, realizing he had been staring, and quickly averted his attention back to Shacklebolt. 

Heaving a sigh, Shacklebolt stood and handed out four identical looking files to both Draco and Potter, each one the color of an off white yellow. 

"So, what we have is your case files. Everything from who we're looking for, past locations, trends in travel, known signature attacks and defense patterns." Shacklebolt spread his own file folders before him, and picked up a few papers. "We're looking for a wizard named Rhys Wimpleton. Known Death Eater, and one of Voldemort's trusted and faithful followers. He seems to ah," Shacklebolt paused, letting a grimace etch into his face, "have a God-complex of sorts. He's found the magic of Horcrux's and is very adamant about taking it upon himself to let...history repeat itself. He has a few known allies, which are included in your files. Questions so far?" He looked expectantly to both men. 

Silence stretched on for a few seconds as Harry shifted his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and as Draco habitually worried his lip between his teeth timidly before Shacklebolt inhaled deeply. 

"Right, so, you two have been assigned to collect him, and bring him back to England to await trial, and more than likely, Azkaban. As per the general Wizarding public's safety, of course." 

Both Draco and Harry looked from each other to Shacklebolt, realizing that each other were wearing same expressions of 'and?', expecting more. Draco was under the impression (and he assumed Potter was much the same) that the mission would be something much different than the standard 'collect and imprison' jobs they were used to. Just...less magic. 

Both men waited silently. 

"Now onto the ah, more challenging aspect of this case." Shacklebolt seems more hesitant, yet he remains professionally resigned. "There will be a minimal magic status on this mission." Draco tenses, but says nothing. He knew what was coming, but hearing it made it so much more frustrating. "Meaning: you will Apparate to an undisclosed area, then walk to the destination." Shacklebolt waits, tense, as if expecting an outburst. 

Instead, Potter raised a hand a couple inches, and spoke. "Why is that?" His voice was quiet, but confident. Draco, of course, already had a guess. Being with his father who planned these sort of things, Draco picked up on patterns and typical spells and behaviors. He figured it was something of a dangerous risk to Apparate right to their location--or supposed location, anyway. 

"Well, the man we're after, he was a devout follower of Voldemort, so, now he feels it's his place to...create him again, or something of the likes. Death Eaters who would go out in the field always had posts they stay at, live in, in the middle of a random location in the middle of a country or such. They would set elaborate traps, wards, and if any magic was used to force their way through, the curse, or what have you, would intensify immensely. Wimpleton is known to have a very, ah, sick sense of humor. You could probably imagine what sick curses he could think up to use. So," Shacklebolt sighed, turning one of the papers in front of him around a few times, busying his unsteady hand. "In order to keep you two from being practically killed upon arrival--and avoiding detection-- myself and the Head Auror decided it best to er, go about this the Muggle way." He grimaced, looking down and flipping through more papers. "Of course, simple magic is allowed. They wouldn't be able to detect simple warming or cooling spells, shrinking and enlarging spells, healing spells, et cetera." Shacklebolt waved his hand vaguely, "there's a complete list in your files, we won't go over that now." 

A wave of silence flushed over the room. Draco glanced at Potter, and noticed the man looked somewhat defeated, yet determined. Draco simply, was agitated. He was always called in for cases relating to Death Eaters--he couldn't blame them really, he thought as he glanced at the Dark Mark stained on his wrist-- and that was really all. He thought of himself as an Honorary Auror: not trusted enough for the exciting and riveting cases, however, a key element in ones relating to Voldemort and his previous followers. 

"When do we depart?" Potter asked, slicing through Draco's thoughts and pushing him back to the present. 

"There is a Portkey set for next Wednesday at dawn, in this room." Shacklebolt said easily, and Potter scribbled it down on one of his folders. Draco looked down and realized that he had fully intended to write down every detail, yet his parchment to his left remained blank. With a huff, he wrote down the time as well. "In the meantime, you have roughly five days to figure out a game plan. I suggest going for lunch or the likes, and figuring something out together." Shacklebolt stressed the last word slightly, and Draco didn't miss the emphasis. "I think that pretty much wraps it all up. Owl me if you have any questions."

Both Potter and Draco stood to shake his hand, and Shacklebolt left with his files, leaving Draco alone in the room with Harry. And Draco most definitely would not be subjecting himself in this room alone with Harry-Scarhead-Potter. Potter looked like he wanted to say something, but Draco was out of the room in a moment, throwing an "I'll owl you," over his shoulder as he left. Harry frowned, and gathered his things. 

:::

_Potter-_  
The Three Broomsticks, 3:30 pm, tonight. Do not be late.  
DM 

Harry scoffed down at the letter, absently stroking the beautiful tan owl that gave the parchment to him. Rolling his eyes, Harry turned and gifted the owl with small treats, and the owl was off, flying high into the morning sun. With a sigh, Harry glanced back over to the letter and scoffed again. "Fucking Malfoy," he mumbled to himself, pointedly adamant about being exactly three minutes late. He chuckled at his own pettiness as he climbed the stairs of him home to get dressed for the day. 

Yesterday could have gone a lot worse, Harry thought as he shrugged on a loose button up shirt, and a pair of faded blue jeans. At least Malfoy hadn't said a single word to him nearly the entire time. Could have gone a lot worse, his mind agrees again. 

It was a bit past noon and Harry was nursing his third cup of tea that day. He couldn't help but let his thoughts trail back to what he thought of last night: the comparison of Hogwarts Malfoy, and Today Malfoy. Aloof and distant were the main words he could use to describe both, but Harry didn't have much the chance to know if Malfoy changed at all. Of course, he'd grown since the five years Harry'd last seen him. His face was sharper, hair had been grown out and pulled back into a tie rather than product slathered on it two layers thick. As pale as ever, Harry thought as he snorted about it. Shaking his head, he sipped his tea and looked to the wall adjacent to him which adorned a small ornate brushed bronze clock. Only an hour before he was to meet with Malfoy, and he dreaded it. Inevitably, they'd argue, and maybe some hexes would be thrown around; Harry sighed, and set his near empty, and cold mug down beside him. 

With nothing else to do, Harry decided to wander around Hogsmeade before making his way to The Three Broomsticks. He Apparated to a small alley beside Honeydukes and wrapped his jacket closer around him. The weather was slowly succumbing to the inevitable summer that was ahead, but it put up a fight today as a bitter wind snapped at Harry's nose. The folders and papers were nestled between himself and the front of his jacket, doing very little to keep him comfortable. 

After wandering the streets, and buying a small sandwich to hold him over until Malfoy showed up, he finally walked into the pub. Harry flicked his wrist up and glanced at his simple watch. Malfoy should be here any moment, if he wasn't here already, as it was a few minutes past their arranged meeting time. A quick scan of the room informed Harry that Malfoy was indeed actually here, and he saw the striking white-blond hair stand out amongst the rest in the far left of the room. Harry drew in a breath and meandered over, and pulling out a chair. He was about to say hello, but Malfoy cut him off with a peek at the pocket watch at his side. 

"You're late," he said, flatly. 

"By three," Harry glanced at his wrist again, "four minutes." He wanted to strangle Malfoy for what seemed like the millionth time in his life, but he inwardly smirked, happy that his small petty annoyance bothered Malfoy. 

Malfoy made a small noise of disinterest, and he picked up a small mug and brought it to his chapped lips as he flipped open a file he had pulled out from a messenger bag at his side. "I found the file of the list of spells and magic we are allowed to use. It's not a generous list," Malfoy pulled the mentioned paper from his files, and Harry laid all his folders out before him as well. "We have to be terribly Muggle about this," Malfoy continued with a grimace and a hint of disgust in his tone. Harry said nothing as he glanced over his list and he heard Malfoy sigh dramatically. "You haven't looked at anything at all, have you?" An annoyed fire sparked in his grey eyes and his lips pressed into a tight line. 

"Well," Harry's cheeks heated. He had opened the files briefly before bed the previous night, but he didn't exactly try to read or understand one bit of it. 

"Fuck's sake, Potter," Malfoy spat, brows furrowing angrily as he stared down at his files. "Why not?" He nearly shouted. 

Harry flinched and raised his hand calmly, noticing other customers turn their heads briefly at the raised voice. "Shh, please." Harry sighed and lowered his hand. "I _did_ glance through it, in fact, I just didn't expect there to be a bloody quiz about it. I only spent like, five minutes on it. I figured we'd go through it today." Harry frowned and crossed his arms. This is not how he wanted this to go, but it quickly spiraled downward as he expected. 

Instead of lashing back, Malfoy's jaw clenched, eyes shifting to the room beside him, and he stared at Harry for a moment before pulling another file out of the folder. "Very well," he said, a eerie calmness washing over his voice. Harry noticed Draco's teeth biting against the skin of his lips for a brief moment before Draco's teeth disappeared, lips pursing consciously. 

A long silence stretched between them, and then: "I apologize." 

Harry nearly stopped breathing. "Pardon?" He wanted to laugh, but he kept his voice steady. 

"I said, I apologize, Potter." Though, nothing on Malfoy's face suggested 'apology,' Harry nodded. 

"Er, s'fine," and that was that. "So, er, the list?" 

And Malfoy, who was more than glad for that nonsense to be over, launched into his own opinion of how they should do the mission. They argued for some of it, but Harry was surprised as to how much they agreed on, how smart and carefully selective Malfoy was in his own reasoning and ways. It caught Harry off guard one or two times, as Malfoy mentioned things that Harry would have more than likely forgotten, and Harry was almost glad to be paired with Malfoy on this special mission. 

Time passed easily, and their late-lunch, early-dinner tea and finger sandwiches went better than Harry could have ever expected. He came home that evening, feeling suspiciously at ease, calm, and nearly ready for them to embark together. Sure, details needed to be ironed out, but there would be time for the specifics later. They had a few days to iron out the wrinkles, and they would be ready. Harry fell asleep that night with hardly a struggle, and fewer than normal terrible dreams. 

:::

Draco was sitting up on his bed, covers draped around him at around quarter until midnight. He had been chewing his bottom lip for the better part of an hour, as he shifted through the files and notes from the day with Potter. At first, he felt more than prepared, having the most confidence in himself as well as Potter (Draco had gotten over the fact that he had to admit to himself that Potter was really a remarkable wizard), but now, he seemed hesitant. The plan, however solid, seemed to be littered with loose ends. Yet, the most nervous he was for this trip was in fact the trip itself. Who knows how long he would be stuck, in forests and unfamiliar towns, unfamiliar territory with Harry Potter. Draco's stomach twisted. There had been a point in time at Hogwarts that Draco found himself fancying Potter. He hadn't felt those feelings in a long, long time; quite honestly, it was a dark and lonely year for him before he made the excuse of mistaking his jealousy for feelings and then busied himself with his father and Voldemort, putting the Boy Wonder from his mind. The school-boy feelings didn't seem to matter as much with his own life being on the line and threatened with each day.

Draco sighed heavily, and scowled down at his files. In a fit, he tossed them to the floor, and waved his wand, lights extinguishing as he moodily pulled the blankets over himself, burying his head into the pillows, forcing himself into a restless (yet refreshingly dreamless) slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while since I've written any full Fanfiction story. Please let me know if anyone seems out of character or if something just doesn't sit right with you. Constuctive criticism is much encouraged. Thank you for reading the first chapter.  
> I will be updating the rating/characters and et cetera as I update chapters.


End file.
